


Trip Meets Mal

by LordGrimwing



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Klingons, Malcolm's an alien, Trip gets abducted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordGrimwing/pseuds/LordGrimwing
Summary: Trip gets abducted by klingons and meets someone who will become very important to him.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	Trip Meets Mal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wheel_pen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I've Got You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/760820) by [wheel_pen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen). 



> wheel_pen gave me permission to write stories in the fantastic Viridian Mal AU. The original stories are fantastic and I always wondered how Trip and Mal's meeting went. 
> 
> I guess this story can stand alone but to understand why Malcom is written the way he is, it might be helpful to read some of whee_pen's stories.

Charles “Trip” Tucker Ⅲ, Chief Engineer of the starship  _ Enterprise _ , rubbed the back of his neck. He’d spent the last two hours climbing through the guts of a dilapidated, isolated station and the only good news he had was that the efficient cooling system had no obvious leaks; just about everything else did. 

“Well, it ain’t good.” He drawled, nerves thickening his accent. For a moment, he wondered if the universal translator reflected the change. Probably not, he couldn’t imagine anyone sounding southern while speaking Klingon. “I give the water recycler about three weeks before it starts spitting out slime. The air filters needed replacing at least a month ago. And don’t even get me started on the power grid! Ain’t nobody ever told y’all EPS coils and lithium-iron systems don’t mix well?”

The klingon towering over him grunted.

Trip shifted from one foot to the other. “I take that as a ‘no’ given the mess in there.” He ran a filthy hand through his sticky hair. “You’ve probably only got about a month before this station’s less habitable than the planet. 

“Look, unless one of your crew’s got engineering talent he’s been keeping real quiet—which I doubt—you ought to load up that preying bird you got stashed outside and head home. Ain’t no glory in suffocating ‘cause the air filters disintegrated.” He paused for breath. Trip hadn’t much cared for the klingons he’d met when  _ Enterprise _ launched and this encounter was not raising his opinion. Apparently, these guys never learned it was rude to abduct somebody from a space station and then ask them for help. Not that the klingon looming over him made it sound like a request. 

“High command,” the klingon rumbled, “ordered the creation of this outpost. They did not fill it with cowering boy-children. We will stay. You will fix the critical systems, or you will die.”

Trip really wanted to roll his eyes but this klingon would probably find it more insulting than his own mother did. “High command probably recalled y’all months ago but the comm’s more fried than butter in Texas.” He threw a hand at the access hatch he’d just crawled out of. “There ain’t no fixing the mess in there without replacing a few dozen things I’m sure you don’t have spares for. And, I don’t know half the systems in here from Adam so I’d give it only 60/40 odds that I avoid blowing us all to kingdom come if I try jury-rigging something.” 

The klingon glowered at him. Trip wondered how the universal translator handled idioms; he’d have to ask Hoshi about that when he got back. Because he was getting back—there wasn’t a snowman’s chance in hell that this would be the end of Charles “Trip” Tucker Ⅲ.

The klingon pointed his gun at Trip’s head. “You will fix it or you will die.” He said, probably with the same tone he’d use for discussing the weather.

Trip threw up his hands, grumbling. Possibly dying tomorrow was better than definitely dying today. “Fine.” He said. “But let me fix the comm array first. My Captain’s a bleeding heart for sob stories like this, so he’ll probably give you any supplies we can survive without.” Of course, Marcus would also gleefully put together a rescue plan involving at least half a dozen explosions.

“We have no need for the human Archer.” Growled the klingon.

Given the gun still pointed at his head, Trip decided not to point out the irony in that statement. “Alright, fine. I’ll start with environmental controls so, hopefully, nobody dies in their sleep.” It’s hub also happens to be right next to the communication system. He might get the chance to fix the comm enough to send out a simple message. He snatched up the basic toolkit he’d been given earlier, heading back to the hatch.

  
  


Klingons’ liked keeping their buildings dark, a theme that made working in the unfamiliar maintenance passages twice as challenging. Their only redeeming quality was their size. Most klingons Trip had seen where a good five inches taller than him and were built a lot thicker. So, while he might have been working in pre-dawn light and everything he touched was covered in grimy film, at least he didn’t have to worry about whacking his head on the ceiling. He’d done that a time or two on  _ Enterprise _ . 

Trip had been at this now for about two hours. The longer he worked, the more he knew he absolutely had to get a message out. There was no way he’d be able to fix this; he’d barely even be able to slow the system failures. Every machine could only take so much jerry-rigging and half-a—ed repair jobs and it looked like someone had already beat Trip to most of that. This outpost was a deathtrap waiting to happen. 

He glanced over his shoulder. The man the klingon captain sent to stand guard in the main room the passage ran from hadn’t checked on what he was doing even once. With the light so dim, Trip was probably hardly visible at this distance anyway. Taking a deep breath of the thick air, he turned his attention to the corroded come array.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Trip about had a heart attack. The speaker was right behind him. He tried to still his shaking hands. “Trying to fix the cooling system.”

“Stupid p’takh. That’s not the cooling system. You were just working on the cooling system.” The voice stated without malice.

Trip hadn’t even realized someone was watching him. “Yeah, well I think this system over here is leaking radiation that’s causing the cooling system to fritz.” Trip thought this was the hardest he’d ever prayed. 

“Oh!” The voice exclaimed. “You must be very smart.”

As Trip’s heart slowed down, it dawned on him that the voice didn’t sound anything like a klingon. Carefully, he turned around.

The speaker stared up at him, pale face lacking even a trace of forehead ridges. If Trip had to guess in the dim light, he’d have said the man was a few years younger than him and one-hundred percent caucasian human. If it wasn’t for the filthy, ragged clothes, Trip wouldn’t have been surprised to see this man crossing a street in Florida—even then it wouldn’t have been that shocking. 

“J—s C—t.” Trip gasped. He couldn’ think of anything else to say.

The man took a step back, bumping into the conduits protruding from the wall, his face a picture of mild confusion in the half-darkness. Maybe the universal translator didn’t have a good translation of that. Which meant this person didn’t know English. Which probably meant he wasn’t from Earth. Trip stepped back, bumping into the exposed comm system.

“Who are you?”  _ Enterprise _ ’s chief engineer finally managed to say.

“‘Ha’Dibah’, mostly. ‘Qatlh’ when I get in the way. I like Mal the best though. Who are you?” 

“Uh, Trip.” Charles “Trip” Tucker Ⅲ, chief engineer on Star Fleet's best ship, remembered his name after a moment. He stuck out his grimy hand, trying not to forget all his manners. “Nice to meet you, Mal.” 

Mal didn’t even notice the outstretched hand. Seemingly boneless, he dropped to the floor, reached across the passageway, and latched both hands around Trip’s right boot. “Oh! It is very nice to meet you, Trip. Very, very, nice. Nicer than gagh. Nicer than cleaning. Nicer than breathing! Though, that’s been rather hard to do lately. Isn’t that odd? You are very smart, so you would know if it was odd.” He said in a rush, looking up at Trip from boot-level. 

“Yeah.” Trip replied slowly, rethinking his earlier assumption about age. “I’m trying to do something about that.” Mal’s continued grabbing was making him uncomfortable. 

“Oh, wonderful!” The alien chirped. “Everyone gets so upset when they can’t breathe.” He sounded very serious.

Trip tried moving his foot. “Yeah, so I should probably get back to doing that, now.” Would it be rude to just pull the offending hands away? “If you could just—uh—let go.”

In a flash, Mal was on his feet again. Shoulders hunched and head down, he whispered, “Sorry. Sorry. Can I help you? I am very good at finding tools and stuff!” He looked up, hands coming together in evident excitement. 

“Uh, I don’t think so.” Trip wiped his hands reflexively on his jumpsuit. “I’ve got it covered here and you probably have other stuff to do.” 

That same look of mild confusion returned to Mal’s face. His hands dropped slowly back to his sides. “Oh.” He turned to retreat deeper into the passageway, where he’d presumably come from to begin with.

“Hey, Mal.” Trip called out softly, conscious that the klingon guard could have been alerted by the earlier noise. Mal looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone what I’m doing. Alright? I want it to be a surprise.” 

Eyes wide, Mal clapped both hands over his mouth and disappeared into the darkness.

Sighing, and thoroughly shaken, Trip returned to his work on the communication system.

  
  


It’d taken another four hours, but Trip was sure he’d transmitted a distress call—nothing more than an approximate location and his name—and now, it was just up to  _ Enterprise _ to get here. Eventually, Trip returned to working on the cooling system. The klingon captain probably wouldn’t be very pleased if it looked like Trip hadn’t done anything. Though, all he was really doing was moving things around and spreading out the grime. 

Honestly, by this point all Trip wanted to do was sit down and eat something. He probably wouldn’t even turn down the most rubber-like energy bars he’d had during training. His graceless hosts probably didn’t have anything that remotely resembled a peanut butter sandwich, let alone fried catfish. 

As if summoned by his thoughts—which Trip adamantly denied—a klingon appeared at the access hatch. “Come here, human.” He demanded. Trip trudged to the hatch and clambered through, trying to calm his racing heart.

“What?” He asked.

The klingon didn’t bother answering. Grabbing the back of Trips neck, he marched the prisoner through the corridors. The shorter human hand to practically jog to keep from being dragged. Had they noticed his transmission? Unlikely, given the state of their equipment but still possible. If so, things were about to get really dicey. The academy had a basic course on what to do when captured by aliens but, of course, it was mostly based on speculation as they’d really only had contact with the volcans, who hadn’t been interested in adding to the class in any way. The transmission probably went out undetected though, so what else could this be about?

Trip flinched as he was yanked through a doorway. 

Mal! That little alien who spied on him earlier could have gone straight to the captain with what he’d seen. Trip had thought Mal dim enough to accept the story he’d fed him, but if he had told any of the klingons, they could have figured it out or at least guessed that their unwilling helper was up to something. This could all be about to go very, very wrong.

It took Trip a few moments to realize where he was once the guard and he arrived. The room was dark as any other but the air was hotter and wetter and filled with sounds somewhere between horrifying and obscene. A sizable group of klingons gathered around the single central table. An animal, not unlike the unholy offspring of a dog and a boar, lumbered between their feet, snuffling the ground furiously. The klingons were eating.

Trip had no idea what the meal was and really hoped to keep it that way. The klingon who brought him here tore a chunk of flesh from the thing on the table, shoved it at Trip and then shoved him into a corner. A bit stunned by the disturbing scene unfolding, he slid tiredly to the floor and stared as he tried to chew the tough meat he was given. It was greasy and stringy but he really was famished. 

It took Trip a while to realize the beast wasn’t the only one waiting for scraps to fall from the table. Mal darted around legs, pointedly avoiding the beast as he went after anything that could have fallen from above. The small alien was remarkably adept at dodging the occasional kick from a clawed boot as he scrambled around on the floor. Warily, Trip looked down at his own meal. He hoped neither Mal nor the beast would decide taking his would be easier than fighting over what dropped. Luck was on his side as he finished the slimy chunk of meat before either looked his way. 

Trip wasn’t keen on returning to the environmental control systems and he definitely was not going to interrupt the klingons’ meal. Shifting back, he tried getting a little more comfortable, though sitting on a bare floor could only be so tolerable. Smothering a yawn, he realized that between stopping at the station, getting kidnapped, and climbing through the inner workings of this dilapidated outpost, he’d been away for something close to thirty hours. He hadn’t even noticed how tired he was until now. Would it be too much to hope his captors would let him sleep a few hours? Trip’s eyes slowly closed.

A hand on his knee jerked him back from sleep. 

Trip strangled a shout, slamming back into the wall as Mal dangled a handful of writhing worms in his face. Exhaustion weighed his arms down, or he probably would have shoved the alien away.

“Do you want some?” Mal asked without preamble. “They’re very nice.”

Trip didn’t get the chance to say exactly how much he did not want any worms, regardless of their quality. Mal squeaked, dropping the wriggling worms as a klingon grabbed his hair, pulling him bodily aside. 

“Get up.” The klingon demanded. 

If Trip had to guess, he'd say this was the same one who brought him here, but keeping track of the different klingons wasn’t a priority. Stiffening a groan, Trip climbed to his feet. He assumed he was being taken back to work and tried to think of a way to let his captor know he couldn’t work when he was this tired. He couldn’t think of anything that didn’t end with klingon beating him for refusing to work. So tired, and caught up in his thoughts, Trip didn’t realize they were heading to a new part of the station until he was shoved into a little room and the door locked behind him.

Startled, Trip sat down in the middle of the tiny, unfurnished cell. He was so tuckered out he didn’t even recognize the pun as he curled up on the floor. Maybe  _ Enterprise _ will have arrived by the time he wakes up.

  
  


Unfortunately, it wasn’t Jon’s friendly voice or Marcus’s irate reprimands that woke him. The scrape of metal on metal heralded Mal as he dropped from the vent in the ceiling. Trip groaned as he sat up, back stiff and the arm he’d used as a pillow tingling. He wasn’t bone tired anymore, though that didn’t stop him from cursing the smaller alien for not waiting a few more hours. 

“What do you want?” He asked warily, sitting up. So far, Mal was more of a nuisance than a threat but seeing as he lived with klingons he could just be biding his time.

The lighting was even worse in the cell than the rest of the place but Trip could still see Mal’s wide, eager eyes as he crouched in front of him. “That thing you were working on is making noises.” He whispered.

Trip blinked. “What thing?”

“That thing.” Mal gestured vaguely with his hands. “That thing that isn’t the cooling system but that you knew would help the cooling system.” 

“Oh.” Trip hadn’t thought the communication system would be able to pick up any kind of return signal. If it was a response to his message hopefully Mal was the only one who’d heard it. “Is it saying anything?”

Mal shrugged, tapping his fingers against Trip’s knee in a staccato rhythm. “It keeps buzzing.”

Trip almost pushed Mal’s hand away before he recognized the pattern the fingers were tapping out. “Mal,” He said slowly. “You don’t know morse code, do you?” 

“Nope.” He chirped. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He grabbed Mal’s wrist, interrupting Hoshi’s message. “You got in here through the ventilation system. Can I get back to the comm interface that way too?”

“Um.” Mal stared at Trip’s hand, surprised by the touch. “I think so? I can and you’re not much bigger.”

“Will you take me there?” Trip loosened his grip on the other’s thin wrist.

“Kruge won’t be very happy if I do.” Mal pulled his arm away slowly. “He’ll be very unhappy that I’m here.” He looked at the small window in the door, then hesitantly up at the vent he’d come through.

“But I’d be very happy if you did.” Trip quietly insisted. He could be back on  _ Enterprise _ in a few hours. 

Mal’s face lit up at the words. “Okay.” He smiled, jumping easily back up into the vent. 

“Aliens.” Trip muttered. He’d come out here to maintain a Warp 5 engine and he was as happy as the next guy to meet new life. That didn’t stop him from getting the heebie-jeebies when someone who looked human performed a preternatural act. Jumping, he grabbed the vent’s edge and pulled himself in as quietly as he could.

“This way,” Mal whispered, crawling away through the nearly pitch-black duct. Trip followed wordlessly. 

Ten minutes later, they were climbing back into the maintenance shaft. Trip barely held onto his excitement when he heard the faint staccato buzzing. He knelt before the dying machine, focusing on the repeating message. The  _ Enterprise _ was on its way. They’d be here in hours, less maybe. Trop hadn’t seen anything that resembled a functioning weapons system so far, but the least he could do was make sure the station’s sensors wouldn’t pick the ship up until it was too late. 

“Does it mean anything?” Mal asked.

Trip had almost forgotten about his guide. “You bet your front teeth it does.” He grinned, snatching up the tools he’d left here earlier. “My ship’s coming; I’m getting out of here.” He pulled the casing off what was probably the external sensor interface. 

“Oh, You live on a ship!” Mal exclaimed, audibly excited. “You must be very brave: zooming around and going to new places and meeting all kinds of strangers.” 

“Nah, mostly it’s just charting stars and planets.” Trip reversed the polarity on a transistor. “I could do with a little more ‘first contact’.” He paused. “Probably shouldn’t say that, all things considered.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I suck at writing action scenes so I'm gonna end here. As we know, Trip and Mal get rescued by Enterprise.
> 
> wheel_pen, thank you so much for giving me permission to use your AU. I know it took me forever to write something. Hopefully, I didn't have too many inconsistencies with the original story (mainly working off memory because it's been a while sense I read your stories). 
> 
> I have a couple of other ideas kicking around in my head, so if you don't mind I might post some more one day.


End file.
